In Honour and Remembrance
by mysweetone
Summary: Canon/AU. 1925. *S5 spoilers. Edith, for personal and professional reasons, is in London for the Remembrance Day service. Written in honor of November 11. Characters belong to Fellowes. A brief epilogue has been added per reader request.
1. Chapter 1

Anthony felt Stewart tug on the white shirt collar and then felt the valet's hands straightening his red jacket, which hung loosely on his tall, slender frame. Anthony continued staring forward, just beyond Stewart's shoulder. He bowed his head slightly as Stewart adjusted the black sling.

"All right, Sir?"

"Yes," Anthony whispered. "Thank you."

Stewart gave a curt nod and brushed the shoulders and back of the red jacket.

Standing together, then, with Stewart in his own service dress—brothers in uniform—the two men stared into the mirror. Stewart's eyes were on Anthony, as the gentleman debated, he knew, on whether he could stand to go at all—but both knew duty would win out.

Anthony touched the black tie gently. His hand purposely avoided the straight-ribboned, secured medals that covered his chest. Seeing their glimmer of the honours beside the red poppy that adorned his black lapel, the gentleman shut his eyes tightly.

Remembering the morning's routine, the gentleman early at his desk with letters and papers, the baronet's trembling hand as he sipped his cup of coffee, Stewart asked, "You're sure you won't eat anything, Sir? It might be prudent to—"

Swallowing, the baronet nodded emphatically. "No, no thank you. I can't. Let's just go, please."

Stewart hailed a car for Whitehall. As the taxi car drove, Anthony and Stewart maintained silence. The two saw the reminders—the banners and wreaths—of the significance of the day.

* * *

><p>Edith smoothed Marigold's tiny dress and wiped a spot from the new shoes bought especially for the occasion.<p>

"I'm so proud of you, my darling," Edith said. She kissed the tiny girl's auburn hair and touched her smiling lips. Together, Edith helped the toddler don her warmest coat and Edith buttoned it up for her. Kneeling before her, Edith reminded her, "We're going to a special place today. There will be lots of people there, so stay close, my darling girl."

Marigold nodded in understanding. "Yes, Mama." A quiet child, she exhibited what Edith feared were hereditary traits of inferiority and insecurity. In the past months, Edith had taken to motherhood with passion: making up for the lost time apart, the tragedy of beginning, and the future the two faced now together without Michael.

Edith, purse and notebook in hand, held the other out for her daughter. Hair done modestly and sweater and blouse covered by her long coat to ward off the chill, Edith opened the door and walked with her daughter to the waiting car.

* * *

><p>Central London crowded with city dwellers, veterans, dignitaries, special detachments ornamented for the ceremony. The gates, tastefully decorated with wreaths for the hundreds from the region who perished, stood behind the stage. Men gathered there in suits and uniforms, all wearing the bright red flower and all appropriately solemn in countenance.<p>

Stewart opened the door of the taxi car and waited—at military attention—for Anthony to step out.

"That's not necessary, Stewart."

"Today it is, Sir…Major."

Anthony lowered his head, walked with his eyes cast down, fearful of looking around and seeing the faces of those mourning still, of those like him—victims, witnesses, survivors…hollowed out inside with grief and shame at having come back at all.

"Here we are," Stewart said, and gestured to the Cenotaph. Anthony stood, aware of nothing but the gray sky above and the memories that refused to stay at bay as his blue eyes surveyed the city, settling on Big Ben.

The crowd formed quickly then, families hurrying into place, to watch and honour the fallen—to remember together.

Edith squeezed Marigold's hand, tenderly urged her along to stand in the front. As they reached the opening in the row that had formed of onlookers, Edith picked Marigold up for the little girl to see more clearly, and a sober stillness settled over the crowd. Edith pointed to the tower and hands, whispering into Marigold's ear, identified for her the uniformed men and the ceremonial wreaths. Marigold stood in awe, watching and obeying as she'd been instructed.

The striking at 11am brought an astonishing alertness as the Royal Horse Artillery readied and fired.

Anthony flinched. His entire body startled by the jolt of cannon, the nerves giving way to uncontrollable tremors. He felt Stewart's hand at his arm, and he leant a bit into him. The cold breeze of wind stung his eyes as he watched the buglers but only saw in his mind's eye the blood, the loss…

Respectful heads bowed, somber eyes wept, and the only sounds during the long silence were those of the sniffling or the choking back of more powerful sobs. When the notes of "The Last Post" began, Marigold started in her mother's arms and ducked her head into Edith's shoulder, and a hush swept the crowd and the nearby streets.

When the second silence ended, "The Rouse" broke the chill morning air and, again, Marigold took cover in her mother's arms and coat, shielding one eye and flinching at the piercing sounds.

"Come here, darling, just a moment," Edith said, setting Marigold down in front of her. Together, with the crowd, Edith and her daughter observed the laying of wreaths, and Edith took up her notepad and paper, jotting down notes and names furiously before the procession began in earnest. As she finished her writing and began singing the national anthem with all in attendance, mouthing and pronouncing the words perfectly to teach Marigold, Edith tucked her pen in her purse and glanced over the other members of the crowd—

"Oh my God—"

Marigold frowned first, seeing the alarm in her mother's face. "Mama?"

Edith stared, but then felt the insistent tug at her sleeve. "It's all right, darling," she said, but her eyes remained on him. She took Marigold's hand in hers and tried to smile, unable to explain to her daughter everything that surfaced in those moments as she stood completely captivated by him.

Anthony was just meters from her in the crowd. His shoulders stooped slightly, his head bowed and hair drifting astray with the wind's tousling. He turned for a brief moment and she saw the striking blue eyes somewhat bleary from weeping…and she knew.

"Anthony…"

"Mama?" Marigold looked in the direction her mother did, but knew not what to look for.

Edith tried to calm down, to settle herself as the service commenced, yet she couldn't stop—couldn't look away from him. When the bishop concluded and the march began, Edith felt compelled to get closer to him. The crowd began to follow or disperse at will and she grabbed her daughter's hand and, together, they followed the tall officer in the red jacket, with Edith craning to see and nearly pushing through the mass of people and yet…she knew not what to say, how to say it...until she reached and touched his arm.

"Ant—"

Panicked, he turned instantly, and he froze. "Wh—Lady Edith?"

Edith glanced down to Marigold and back up to him and then to Stewart. "I just…I saw you and you look so…wonderful…"

Anthony wiped his eyes, blinked again. "Oh? Wh—? Um, thank you…I see. And…?" He looked down and saw the miniature of Edith—the dark, luminous eyes and the golden-reddish tinged curls. He bowed slightly to Marigold. "How do you do, Lady—"

Edith looked again, anxious from her daughter to Anthony. "Marigold…this is my…daughter, Marigold." For a long moment the little girl stared up at the tall gentleman in uniform. Then, talking quietly amidst the crowd still moving around them, Edith leaned down and knelt beside her daughter. With both looking up at him, she said, "Marigold, this is…_Major_ Strallan. When he's in uniform, we call him Major Strallan, but…" The pause, the catching of her breath as she stared into his eyes, as the pain in her throat burned. "At Locksley—you know, darling, in Yorkshire—if we see him there, he's _Sir_ _Anthony_…Strallan." The little girl looked into her mother's glistening eyes and looked up, curious and in wonder at the nice man who'd upset her mother.

Anthony stood speechless.

"She's very young, but I thought she should see this," Edith added, nervous, lost as to how to fill the distance—the years—that had passed between them.

"Your…daughter?" Anthony smiled, risked a glance at Stewart, who remained steadfast at attention beside him—a physical barrier protecting the three of them in the midst of the public passing by. Anthony looked again at Edith, now standing with Marigold in her arms. He studied the young girl for a moment. "You're married—I didn't know. Your husba—"

"No, no, I'm not married. He's…dead." Edith observed his reaction carefully. She wasn't certain what to expect, but what she saw gave her hope: he was the same Anthony. There was no sign of ill-judgment or moral reckoning or even suspicion. He only frowned, a sad sympathy evident. Edith felt the eagerness to explain, to clear herself in his eyes should he be concealing his feelings for her, and so she stammered, "It's…it's a long story, I'm afraid. I'm…well, it's a long story."

A minute passed, the groups thinning and finding their way around them.

Anthony managed a deep breath of the cool air. He looked around at the milling people and considered all of the imaginings from the years between them—and how, even in his most painful moments and desperate prayers—he'd never quite been able to see as beautiful an image as the one before him. Seeing her merely awakened his dormant heart, but seeing Marigold… Stuttering, uncertain how to manage this unexpected blessing, he simply said, "It seems…a difficult day for everyone…"

"Yes," Edith agreed, looking around as well. "I'm sorry…to have kept you." She looked at her daughter's profile as Marigold, still enthralled with the sight of Anthony in uniform, examined the ribbons and medals and reached for the poppy at his lapel. "No!" Edith's fingers nearly stopped her, but Anthony held both their hands in his—Marigold's tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb as his own large fingers twined with Edith's. Warm, tender in his grasp, he only smiled at them both—pleased that he caught the little girl's touch before her mother could scold her further…

"It's all right," he said, perfectly calm now. They all noticed their fingers laced together and, just as quickly, let them go.

"Again, I'm sorry—"

"I'm sorry…Edith. For everything, I'm so very sorry. I pray for your forgiveness, Edith—"

Edith stood stunned at his words. "Anthony… Yes, well—I am sorry, too, for…so much…"

Anthony gazed at Marigold again, both shy as they peered at one another. "Perhaps…a bit of tea, Stewart? At Strallan House?" He never looked at his man, but only continued talking to Marigold, whose hand reached for his again and he held it tenderly in his once more. "Would you two ladies care to join us, Lady Marigold? If you have no other plans, of course? It's…a difficult day for us all…given the past and…" He straightened his posture, returning his attention to Edith. "And I know you said that…'twas a long story?"

Edith nodded, eyes wide as she gaped at him. "But I'd love to—we'd love to, wouldn't we, darling?" Marigold giggled, a sly smile lingering at her reddened cheeks, the very essence of hope and joy in her bright, dark eyes—a hope that neither her mother nor Anthony had felt in years that now seemed to easily beckon them towards the future both had dreamt of for so long. Edith laughed and then looked again to Anthony, waiting expectantly, the gentleman-officer gazing now at them both with his crooked grin and now-clear, blue eyes. Nodding once more, she blushed, like she'd done so long ago in the Downton drawing room. "I'd like that very much…"

* * *

><p><em>I was incredibly moved by the ceramic poppies in London and the nightly honouring of those who sacrificed their lives—breathtaking and heartbreaking. In honour of November 11 and the commemoration of the end of WWI… <em>

_Thank you to all of those who served and those who continue to serve…_

_Thank you for reading and I do hope, if you've time, you let me know your thoughts… _


	2. Chapter 2

_Because I am unable to deny requests and welcome them always ;) A brief epilogue at the request of a dear Guest reader/reviewer and my fantastic friend, njbrennan … Thank you all for reading; I hope you enjoy this addendum. _

_In dedication to our dear friend, spottedhorse: warm wishes and sincere condolences, with love, to you and yours._

* * *

><p>Strallan House, normally taken with quiet contemplation and silence, crackled with warmth that November 11th afternoon. The charming giggles of a child filled it, much to the delighted surprise of Mrs. Brandon, Anthony's long-time cook, who dashed together enough delicious cakes to feed three families at once rather than the tiny one she hoped was forming in the home's library.<p>

In the barely-worn chairs of the cozy library, Anthony watched as Marigold happily tucked into the tea and cakes on the coffee table before the hearth. Shy looks passed between Edith and Anthony as both observed the child, and then Edith stared at the gentleman as he, in turn, couldn't take his eyes off of the little girl. Smiling in awe at each movement by Marigold, each laugh, the tiny fingers as she tried to manage the silver with the plate and sweet cake—the crumbs that inadvertently fell—and the hesitant eyes that met Anthony's in apology, somewhat fearful…until Anthony chuckled.

"It's quite all right, Lady Marigold, to make a bit of a mess. Mrs. Brandon and the staff will be ecstatic, I assure you," he whispered, with a wink of his brilliant blue eye.

When Marigold cast a sly, clever glance in her mother's direction—knowing she was getting away with _everything _in this gentleman's presence, Edith cleared her throat and, in order to contain her chuckle at her daughter's mischief, she closed her eyes and looked towards the window and the street.

The drive had been filled with the lovely grace of anticipation; Marigold delighted in staring at the glimmer of medals on Anthony's coat, reaching and touching some of them as she sat between him and her mother in the back of the car, with Stewart in the passenger seat up front. Instead of losing himself in Edith's luminous eyes, Anthony chose to focus on the child. When Marigold first reached for the ribbons, Edith had stopped her with a firm voice; Anthony, however, sought permission from Edith with a lowering of his head and pleading in his eyes, and then, when Edith gave a slight nod, he took the girl's small fingers and held them in his, allowing her to feel the decoration as he told her the name of each one and with each uttered syllable Edith stared at him with increasing awe and sense of alarm and then, a creeping guilt, as she'd never realized—never convinced him to talk to her about the war—the extent of his experiences. Certain vague phrases from the past, her later research into some of the places he'd mentioned off-handedly, came back to her as gaps began to fill with understanding, snatches of conversations, distant looks that vanished instantly when she asked him questions now flashed again in her memory. Yes, he'd told her of the brachial plexus and, yes, she'd tried to understand the lack of nerve response brought by the injury—but the rest…all he'd been through…the magnitude of it all…he'd protected her, surely, and she saw it now, felt it all pierce her for the first time…

Marigold's voice interrupted her. "Mama?"

A tear had escaped Edith's eye as she'd watched her daughter absorbing Anthony's quiet lesson. Her daughter's gentle nudge snapped her back to the present. "Y-yes, darling?"

"Lady Edith, are you all—" Anthony leaned closer to her, concerned, as he too saw the tears.

"I'm fine," she said, shaking her head, dabbing at her eyes. "It's just…" She looked to him, well aware of her daughter's gaze alternating now between the two of them as they stared at one another. "It's just that I…" She pushed her hair back from her face, tilting her head. "I never knew—not really. You never talked about it and now…to see you—in uniform…"

Anthony bowed his head, sudden embarrassment and guilt for the current display and the past he couldn't change. Then, just as quickly he felt Edith's hand on his shoulder.

"Anthony? It's all right—I didn't mean…" She took a breath and smiled, a tender and affirming look he'd not seen before.

"I kept so much from you; I couldn't bear to hurt you, but I did—" He confessed.

"There was so much I didn't know, didn't understand, but now…"

Anthony's own eyes welled, and as a tear slipped down his face he felt the light and dainty touch of Marigold's fingers on his cheek. "No cry," she insisted, shaking her head, her dark eyes sad as she peered up into his light ones.

"No, no, of course not, my sweet one," he said, the words resonating as his eyes lifted from Marigold's to Edith's. "I wanted to…you must know…I _had always _wanted to, but…"

"Yes, I understand," Edith said. "I do, Anthony, I do."

The car stopped and each studied the other, the moment suspended with her words—so much felt that no further words were necessary. Marigold touched Anthony's cheek again, causing him to start. "Tea? Yes, yes, I know, Lady Marigold," he said, hurrying to regain his composure with a quick cough and blinking eyes.

The little girl heard the latch and saw the door open behind Anthony, Stewart waiting patiently outside, and she climbed past him leaving Anthony to follow her with his eyes until he felt a different touch at his cheek. A tender caress he'd not felt in years but longed for. He searched her face as she leaned closer, her knuckles still soft on his skin.

"Edi—Lady Edith—please forgive—"

"Edith…Anthony…just Edith."

A sudden tug on his sleeve and Anthony turned to see a glowing Marigold. Sheepish, she grinned. "Tea?"

Anthony chuckled. "Yes, my dear, we're—" He glanced back at Edith. "We're right behind you, aren't we…Edith?"

Edith nodded emphatically. "Yes, darling, we're right behind you."

Stewart held the door for both. Anthony stepped out, unfolding his tall frame and then reaching for Edith's hand to help her, he straightened to his full height and, as she rose up to meet him saw his intense blue eyes shimmering, the sun appearing from cloud cover and firing them in the early afternoon. When he thought to let go of her, she squeezed his hand tighter. With that clench of clasped fingers, the two walked inside where Marigold walked ahead of them slowly examining the stately—quite empty—home.

The small child, barely up to Edith's waist, gazed with wonder at the walls, the few modern and brilliant paintings along the entry corridor that led to the library and the stairs, the mahogany furnishings along the way and inside the cozy room with its dark hearth and his gorgeous desk, the handsome lamps, and the books—they were everywhere, resting at each place a flat surface existed. Edith, too, steadfast in her grip of his hand, took the sight in of the place she'd only dreamt of until this day. Anthony's quiet abode that she'd heard rumored he escaped to after the dreadful day in May of 1920…

Without a word Stewart had started a fire in the hearth, brightening the room already brimming with rekindled affection, with long-buried passion, with unspoken hope.

"I'll return in a moment," Anthony said.

Confused for a moment, Edith stood and watched him depart with Stewart close behind. She and Marigold waited, Edith struggling to keep the curious little one in her lap. "No, no—he'll be right back. We don't want to touch anything, darling, okay?"

Before Marigold could respond, however, Anthony reappeared by where they sat by the fire. "Of course she can. She may explore whatever she wishes," he said, bending closer to the little girl. Anthony saw Edith's look of reluctance at allowing such behavior.

"Anthony—"

"It's really all right. There's nothing she can harm in here."

Edith laughed, looking around at the frames, the glass, the well-worn books, the sentimental family pieces that clearly held value placed on each shelf—all within reach of her daughter's uncoordinated and anxious grasp. "Anthony, you must be—"

"Delighted. I'm absolutely delighted you and Lady Marigold are here."

That settled it. Edith relented, witnessed the change in him—the smile fading, the eyes imploring. "We are, too—delighted, Anthony."

He had removed his jacket, his sleeves undone and rolled up, his sling gone. Relaxed. Edith realized she had never seen him like this—so much of this day was turning out like nothing she could have ever imagined. Her daughter. Her former fiancé. Her love for both overwhelming her—even as they seemed to fall for one another.

Now, after the tea and cakes, as Marigold perused the array of books along the giant shelves that dwarfed her tiny countenance, Edith and Anthony talked. Easy. Each subject, each story Edith regaled him with—expecting at any moment that he would judge her or reject her—the man she'd loved before, simply listened, bowing his head in moments to plead forgiveness, feeling the despair from the decisions both had made…

Unexpectedly, Anthony suddenly stood. "Marigold!"

Before he made it to her, the little girl backed away from the frame she'd slid from its place when she grabbed a large, leather-bound book from the shelf. The glass shattered right in front of her and Anthony bent quickly and whisked her up with his left arm. Marigold dropped the book and it too slammed to the floor. The loud noise, the sudden commotion—and her vulnerable eyes met his—before she began crying, her head nestled into his shoulder as he held her.

"Shh…there, there. It's all right," he whispered.

Stewart came through the door immediately after as Edith came to them, looked to Marigold to make sure she wasn't harmed.

"It's all right, Stewart—"

"Anthony, it's not all right," Edith said, "the frame—the glass—I'm afraid she's broken it—"

"It's just a frame, Edith. She's all right and that's what matters, yes, my dearest darling—yes?" He coaxed the little girl's face from where she remained hidden by his neck. Staring into her eyes, he whispered, "We're all right, aren't we?"

Marigold nodded her head, her fisted hands rubbing her eyes.

"I think someone is a bit sleepy," Edith said.

The three of them stepped aside as Stewart began sweeping up the remaining shards of the ruined frame. Anthony, feeling Marigold snuggle again by his shoulder, looked to Edith and both spoke at once.

"She's welcome to nap upstairs; I've no idea your plans, but—"

"Are you sure? I'm sure you have other plans—"

Their smiles mirrored each other.

That's how Mrs. Brandon found them.

"It's all right, Mrs. Brandon," called Stewart from where he was kneeling by the shelf. "Though it appears Lady Marigold needs a place to rest."

The matronly cook wiped her hands on her apron and approached the couple and little Marigold. "If it's all right, milady, we've a quite-nice room upstairs that would be perfect for this young lady?" She glanced to the master of the house. "Isn't that right, Sir?"

"Yes, Mrs. Brandon. Yes, Edith, we do—it's…" His voice broke. "It's never been used and…as Mrs. Brandon said, it would be perfect. It was meant for…a little one…"

Edith rested her hand on Marigold's back, comforting her daughter who now seemed to simply be soaking up all of the attention as best she could in the arms of the kind gentleman and his staff. "Well, if it's not inconvenient—"

"Most certainly it is _not _inconvenient, milady," Mrs. Brandon assured her. "I'll take her there myself now, if that's all right?"

"Well, thank you, Mrs. Brandon," Edith said, shaking her head. "I can take her—"

"No, no, you enjoy the fire and more of the tea and cake and Lady Marigold and I will settle in upstairs." Mrs. Brandon surveyed the tiny child, craning her head to peer under Anthony's chin and pretend to get a good look at her. "I imagine it won't be long and I'll be back down here preparing dinner—and she'll be sound asleep."

Without waiting for stated permission, Mrs. Brandon grinned and sweet-talked the young lady into her arms and up the stairs as Anthony and Edith watched her—a master at work in the kitchen and with little children, it seemed. Stewart followed behind them, with Marigold watching him over Mrs. Brandon's shoulder.

The library shrunk to just the two of them.

"Only a moment and we're all alone," Edith said.

"She'll be fine upstairs, but if you're having doubts—"

"The room was meant for Philip, wasn't it? Or any children you might have had…?"

Anthony nodded in silence.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's all right. Shall we sit?"

Edith took her seat again and, to her shock, Anthony sat close beside her. The fire had waned a bit, but the room remained warm and inviting. He leaned back, deep in thought with his eyes on the blue-orange flames and the glaring logs burning in the hearth, and Edith watched him—waiting for something, though she was uncertain as to what.

"You're alone?"

"Yes."

"The two of you?"

"Yes, we are…alone."

"Are you two…happy—together, are you happy?"

"Yes, I think so—as happy as we can be, given the circumstances." Edith shrugged, her eyes lost in the same flames that held Anthony's attention.

"Could you be…happier, perhaps, if you were…"

Edith felt the quickened pulse and didn't dare look at him as she finished what she hoped was his thought. "If I were…_married_?"

Anthony gulped, closed his eyes and fought for a moment the battle he thought he'd given up long ago—the one between his heart and his reality. Carefully, he asked, "Have you thought of it—of meeting someone…_suitable_—someone _deserving_ of you? I want what's best for you and Marigold and—"

"God, Anthony—don't you dare do this!" Edith stood, but in a heartbeat felt her wrist gripped by his hand.

"Me—I'm not deserving of you, Edith, nor am I suitable, but—"

The truth of the feelings reawakened in the past hours, Anthony stood, still holding her hand until she pulled away from him—slowly.

Anthony touched her cheek. "I love you—still." He gestured with his head towards the upstairs of the home, lifting his brow. "And, after today, with Marigold…let me, Edith. Please, if you feel the way I do—or you don't and haven't quite forgiven me—can't forgive me—and I wouldn't blame you, if that's the case—but, please let me love you—both of you—and take care of you. I have the means and I promise to protect you, to not push you, to do whatever you wish—"

Edith stopped his rambling with her fingertips at his lips. "Do you really love _us_? The questions, the past, Anthony, it will—"

"Marry me, Edith. Please let this day be the first of the rest of our lives together?"

"What about my family?"

"I will ask your father and—"

"If he rejects the idea?"

"Then…I will stay at Downton until he's convinced and gives his blessing and—" Anthony hesitated. "And I will never leave you again…unless you change your mind and decide you don't want this after all."

Edith placed her hands on his chest. "You will never—ever—leave me again?"

"Never," Anthony whispered, his hand in her hair, his eyes unwavering from hers. As if to seal the promise, to prove to each other the dream materializing, Edith leaned closer, stood on tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and Anthony Strallan pressed his lips to hers…just as he would in a month's time as Edith Crawley became Edith Strallan and Lady Marigold, just a short while later, became the adopted daughter of Anthony's and…eventually, in the years that passed and the family lived and loved and laughed together at Locksley, the oldest sister to Sarah Marie and James Philip…


End file.
